


wars behind my face and above my throat

by tumbleoutyourhair



Series: flying and burning [13]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Wash Is Not Fine, Wash Is Very Rarely Fine, that weird area between pre-slash and established relationship, you know how it goes with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleoutyourhair/pseuds/tumbleoutyourhair
Summary: “doc mentioned something before he left, but. you’re like really fucked up aren’t you?” tucker asks quietly.wash thinks of how even though it wasn’t intentional, there’s nothing but a solid wall behind him. if he concentrates he can feel the edge of a knife along his ankle that he doesn’t remember putting there. knows without even thinking about it what his escape route would be if tucker decided to come at him.“yeah,” he sighs. “something like that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: salt asked for wash/it's nothing because hOOOOOOO MAH GOD IS THAT OUR GOT DAMN JAM OR WHUT
> 
> rated for the usual rvb scenarios

his mother finds him when he’s trying to scrub the blood out of his favourite shirt.

“oh, david, honey.”

he startles, looking up to see her standing in the doorway. he angles his body to try and hide the worst of the marks, but despite the haze over her eyes he knows it’s pointless. “mom! you’re home… early.”

she pads over to him, and he looks back down into the sink to avoid seeing the sadness in her face. the water rinses pink as it swirls down the drain, and he tries not to flinch when he feels fingers ghost through the matted hair at his temple. “did you remember the hydrogen peroxide this time?”

“we’re all out. i used corn starch instead.”

she hums quietly, and if he forgets about the broken glass in the kitchen, and the lingering haze of the stims in his mother’s gaze, this could almost be something else. this could be david getting home after a fight at school, his mother disappointed but still warm and overbearing as any mother is. she could be sending him to his room and threatening to tell his father when he gets home from work and you’re grounded for a week young man!

but instead _—_

“i’ll talk to him when he gets home.”

david looks up and stares hard at his mother. looks at the circles under her eyes and imagines them as actual bruises. thinks about the blood in his teeth and feels his gut churn at the thought of her smiling in red. remembers his dad had scruffed his hair before he left for the airport, grinning and telling him to look after his mother, you’re the man of the house now davey.

instead he dredges up a smile—lips closed—and nudges her with his shouder. “don’t worry about it, mom. it’s nothing.”

///

“jesus, wash you look like you got into a scuffle with a mongoose. again.”

wash pouts. “i thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore.”

“no, _you_ got drunk and tried to make us pinky-swear not to talk about it again. i think florida and maine were the only ones who actually agreed,” north replies, coming around to sit across from him on the locker room bench. he watches wash finish wrapping his split knuckles, and wash knows he’s taking in the way his hands are shaking, the blood under his nose. “seriously though. what happened?”

he shrugs. “nothing as diabolical as whatever it is you’re thinking. just a training session.”

“a train _—_ wash the last time i saw you you were headed for the training floor. are you just getting out _now_?”

wash doesn’t look up, focuses on refastening his gloves. “it was an endurance run.”

“for six hours?! wash there’s protocols in place for a reason! the director _—_ ”

“the director was the one that signed off on it!” he snaps, rising on legs that he prays will hold him and striding to his locker to avoid the concern on north’s face. “he said _—_ he _—_ ”

“wash,” a steady hand comes down on his shoulder, and it makes him realize how much he’s still trembling, muscles quivering with exhaustion just under his skin.

“i dropped a ranking. on the leaderboard. did you notice?” wash asks quietly, staring at the bank of lockers.

he senses north shrug. “we all move around. depends on who’s taking more missions. it happens.”

“well apparently i’ve _moved around_ too much lately. the director _—_ ” he clenches his jaw, swallows around the bitterness, “the director wants to ensure i’m not losing my focus. that i’m still committed to the project.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” north says, confused. “whether or not you’ve dropped a rank you’re still consistently at the top. if you end up in the infirmary out of exhaustion it’s just going to come back around to bite the project in the ass.”

wash doesn’t answer, remembering the way the director had stood at the viewing window. had watched him slow and shake. gaze blank and dispassionate even when he started to cough up blood, breath wheezing from his lungs. thinks about the way it was _filss_ that had tried to intervene before being dismissed. his gloves creak as they tighten into fists.

“ _—_ ou okay? wash?” his head jerks up and he sees north ducking down to meet his eyes, worried frown on his face. “still with me?”

he nods sharply, breath escaping in a heavy sigh and taking some of his tension with it. “yeah, sorry. just tired.”

north squeezes his shoulder. “i think ct’s right. we’re all starting to take this leaderboard thing way too seriously.”

a cool and calculating gaze flashes to the forefront of his mind. “i’m beginning to think ct’s right about a lot of things.”

north cocks his head, holding out wash’s helmet. “what do you mean?”

but he shakes his head and manages a weak grin. “it’s nothing. c’mon, lets go see if york left any bacon.

///

_epsilon is_ _—_

_epsilon is not nothing._

_epsilon is everything._

_epsilon is the feeling of white noise in the back of his skull. quiet. lingering. awareness creeping down his spine, through his marrow. connecting. interfacing._

****

**_Ą̸̫̺̰͖̗̐̎͑͌̈́̒̀̉L̸̢̡̛̪͕͇͓̠̙͑́̓͂͛̕̕͢͜͝͞L̷̢̧̤̲̬̯̪͍̇̓̑͑̾I̷̳̦̠̹̭͈̬̓̆͆̈́̃͆ͅS̢͔̮̰̫͈̼̉̄̀̾̀͊̽͢Ơ̷̢͉͖̺̞̓̃̀̄͊́̽́̿͢͢N̡̛̟̼̰̰͔̼͗̈̆̄͂̂̈́͜_ **

 

[wash will find records years later of the implantation. he will watch his body lie there _—_ still as a corpse, no outward sign of the trauma ripping it’s way through his mind. he will burn the records before finding an empty corner to rip off his helmet and vomit.]

_pain terror grief none of it his all of it his exploding through his synapses. epsilon has never known what it is to have a heart to stop beating, lungs to seize in agony, a mind to warp. they will learn together._

****

**_Ṯ̶̟̘̘̳̖͉̾̍͌̒̄͟͟H̷͍͇̠̗͔̣͖̳͌͂͑͘͘͜I̷̡͈̲̘̘̺͉̞͈͋̒̽͑̓̀́̕͡S͔͔̲̱̥̫̻͕͉̿̈͊̿̉̕ Ȋ͉̫̘̭̠̲̗̰͍̽̋̈͐̽͟͡͡S̢͇͓̬̬̺̓͋́̍̀ W̧̰̭̺̻̿̓̊͋̎̓̚̚Ḩ̻͈͇̰̬̬̼͙͒͐̔̍͛̕͞͠͞͡ͅẢ̸̡̢̞̰̫̂̐̃̏̽̑͌̔͢͠Ť̷̰̗̝͍͉̭̀͛̀̀ H̵̲̭͎̼͓̙̀͋̒͂̀̊̉͛ͅE̱͓͕͚͉̣͂̐̾̓̿̌͘͝ Ď̵̟̺̠̗̪̦͌̊̃̂͞ͅI̸̢̝̗̞̥̗̫̭̽̆͐̽̈́̔͊͘̕͜͡D̛̼̗͉̮̗̱͗̐́̒͗̚͞͠ T̴̨̗̳̦̘̄̃̓͑̍͘͘͜Ơ̥͎̼̖͙͔͖̓̃̾͑̍̓͌͠͝ Ũ̢̼̺̫̒́̋͗̉̈́̃̎͢͠S̷̢̗̹̘̱̔̏̔͋̔_ **

_wash grieves for alpha, trapped in his own mind, his own body_ _—_ _he has no choice. epsilon screams and writhes, furious with nothing to destroy so he will rip apart the walls of wash’s mind._

_**epsilon, no, please** _

****

**_W̵̯͎͖̠͍̯̗̃̽̆̆̇̈́̐̌̅Ë̛̻̥̻͔̠̭́̀̄̿̈́̍̏̋̕ L̴̙̹̗͔̪̬̥̲̉̏͌̉̒̂̍́͂ͅO̵̧̨̟̭̦̙̎͋́̒͑̽͠V̜͙̜͉̤̗͇̪̍̏͐͐́̕̕͢͞Ȩ̢̛̼̞̳̻͎̏̌̀͐̒̍͌̕D̶̨͙̩͇̲͙̭̉̇̈́̐̓͒̒̀̌́ H̴̼͔̥̜̲̝͇̙̀̀̍̍̊̀̃͢͡ͅE̢̹̙̹͛̄̍̀͋͋̏̅͟R̷̡̨͕̙̰͚͔̽͂͐̅́̈́̄͂͘͡_ **

_wash will love her until the day he dies. always has loved her. has never known any different. knows the feel of her hair, the smell of her skin, the ache of her loss._

**_epsilon_ ** **_st op_ **

****

**_w̵͙͙̻͖̙̭͑̌́̑͜͡a̡͓̲̯̖̞͙̿͑̊̉̌̄̾͢͜ͅş̵̳̰̞͈̮̲͔̈́͊̽̽͘͞ḥ̸̙̞͈̞̃̊̒͒̋i̷̖͖̹̪͖̝̭̜͍͊̋̔̏͐͌̾̕͜͞͡ņ̸̜͓̗̱̹̜͌̿̑͘͜͝g̥̣͖̮̠̒̄̈̀̆̀͡ṱ̩̞̼̪̳̠̮̽̿̾̋̏̽̾͞o̖̺̖̱͑̍̓̉̽̅̿̀̿̚ͅñ̸̠̤͍͕̠̮̠̬̀͊͌̚͢_ **

_wash can’t breathe can’t move can’t scream he is going to die_

****

**_h̸̡̨͕̝̪̜̜̯͌̇̌̉̇́̂̓̚͠e̵͙̳͈̥͎̦̩͙͐̓͛̑̉͞͡͡͠͡ w̡͔͓̝͓̣̭͇̮̐̏̃̌̐͘͡i̴̪̗̳̩̅̒̊̑͐̀̒͆͘͢ͅl̛̫͈͍͓͖̫͎̔̋̓̿̂̏̔̈̚͜͟͟l̤̘͇̭̳̮̱̉̽̒̂̇͂͋͠ k͉̫̳͓̣̙̘̘͖̂͊͐̏̚͜i̶̛̝͕̗͙͈̩̣̠͌̾̇̃̈̿͡ļ̸̧̨̞̝͇̓̌̆̂͛͟͝ͅl̸̨̨̜̙̺͕̥͍͋̿̄̐̋̉͢ u̡̲̻͍̯͖̖̱͔͗͌̋͡͝s͇͔͓̩̰͙̫̍̐̋̄͗̚͞ į̴̧̛̲̬̺̗̦̬̌̈̀́̽̉͘͜ḟ̧̪̹̠̰̘̟̤̀̅̅̍͋͊͡ h̢̼̩̗̟̜̙̖́͛̈͗̌̕͢͢ę̶̡͈̲̩̦͙͖̀̄̅̂̌̕͘͝ k̨͉͕͎̱̰͆͛̈̓̊͊̽̍͟͝͞n̸̡̻̟̬̭̖͚̄̂͂̉͝o̧̹̟̞̘͖̓͒̎͂̄̐̚̕͞w̴̖͖͕̹̻̖̖̏̃̀͆͐͋̓͘s̴̛̹̥̜͉̦̱̓̏̅̈́̏̃̂͗̂_ **

****

**_i don’t know anything oh god let me out_ **

****

**_w̸̨͚̻̱͕̤̦̒̍̾́̿é̡̫̬͈͖͈̬̑̂̀̀͛͋̈́͢͞ k̴̡͖̥̠̫̫̓̑̅͑͊̀̆ṉ̨̦̯͖̰̤͚̒̽͋̐̇͜͡͡͠ͅo̷̧̢͍̱̗̣͈̺̤̬̐͐̉̓̊͒̉͠w̧̨̢̩͎̄̉͛͐͌̒͊͆̕ e̬̰̰̙̬͙̤͊̽͊͑̔͊̚͜͟v̶̢̛͈̩͉̺̋͐̍́͛̈́͢͠͞ę̵̢̨̫̰̂̈̿͂̓́̕̚͟͝r̴͍̼̬͇̫̫̦͓͌́͛̈̑͑̚͞y̸̬̹̲̻̹̤̋́̂͗͒̏͠ṫ̡̧̟͈̓̿͜͞͡ḧ̴̬̺͎̦̰́̽͌̌͘͜͞i̷̳̗̗̖̤̲̝͑͊̔͐̏̇̕͜ń̨̙͙͎̍̎̀̕͜g̴̨̠͕̬̯̠̬͙̽̎̍̽̍͜_ **

**__ **

**_ ep silon _ **

****

**_w̬̗͖̬̱̙̔͒̃͌͋ͅͅe̴̺̩̥̫͈͎͙͇̩̿̈̓̑̊̏̍̈̚͟͠ c̷̨̢̼̳̳̺̖̦̍̀͐͛̇͌͢â̷̡̡̲̹̠̥̺̮͐̑͆̍͐̿̎̕͟͠n̶̺̯̱̮͛͒̂̆̿̽̃͟ņ̮̺͇̝̗͔̯͎̍̓̇̆̕͜o̰͚͖̗͕̍̐͌́͞͞t̛̼͍͔̟̱̮̫̯͌́͋̐͆̀̕ g̮̩͕̟͎̤̬̺̦̈́̔̊̿̅̾͂́e̴͖̹͚̯͊̆͆̍͊͑̑͜͠ͅt̶̖͙̟̤͈͇̫̻̾̓̓̑͋̔̆̈ͅ ǫ̶̠̹̦̙̫̱̩́͌̓͌̐͞u̷͖͎̹͎̣̭͐̋͟͞͡͝t̨̛͈͕̻̠̞͉̘̲̊͊͛͡_ **

_years minutes days wash writhes and twists and ruptures_

_but survives_

****

**_ĭ̵̡̧͚̳̗̜͇̹̺̐̇̓́͝ͅ'̵̪̞̪͓̺͓͙̒͑̓͑̾̂̏͘͘͟m̛̻̫̝͙̱̗̗̻̦͋̌̅͆̅́͞ s̨̖̝̮̻͍̄͛̀̽̽̔͜ͅo̶̡̨̹̟̘̝̾̄̌͗̈́̎͆̎͢͢r̦̩̹͎̭͎̮̯̈͛̔͒͊̋̎̚̚͢r̡̨̢̛̖͍̖͇͖͖̀́͐̎ý̸̘̯̙̟̬̼̍̾͊̋̇_ **

_always survives_

_**EP SILON NO** _

///

wash wakes

 _—_ and wakes and wakes and wakes.

“what is it you dream about agent washington? the medics says you scream yourself awake most night.”

he dreams of his teammates’ backs. leaving him to rot in his mind and this room. conjures of images of carolina falling twisting breaking. remembers the heartbeats that stretched into eons as epsilon wove through his very molecules and for the eternal instant where they were one. he hears the screams. all of them.

“agent washington?”

he stares down at his hands, bound to his bed because he tears at his ports in his sleep. wrists wrapped in gauze because a nurse dropped a pen in his room and he tried to carve epsilon’s ghost out of his bloodstream. wonders where they put his wedding ba _—_

“nothing,” he murmurs, bland. “it’s nothing.”

///

hitting the floor wrenches him awake, throat still burning with his screams. he’s shaking, chest heaving, a name caught in his throat and he doesn’t know whose doesn’t want to know fuck fuck _fuck_

he manages to roll onto his hands and knees, breath wheezing from his lungs and he can’t _—_

“ep _-_ epsilon?”

the silence screams in his ears and his vision is whiting out he’s not breathing he can’t remember how to breathe where are his glasses fuck _no not again_

he folds in on himself, hands laced protectively over his ports, concrete floor harsh and cold and grounding against his knees and forehead.

“one,” he gasps

_david_

“t-t-wo,”

_washington_

“thr-r-ree,”

_freelancer_

“four,”

_epsilon_

“f-five,”

_meta_

“six,”

_valhalla_

“seven,”

_caboose_

“eight-t,”

_tucker_

“nine,”

_wash_

“ten.”

he lies on the floor and breathes and feels his atoms knit themselves back together. eventually, the floor becomes too much for him, and he slowly pushes himself to his feet. he manages to get his bodysuit on before surpassing any pretence of giving a fuck and wandering out to the kitchen. it’s still dark _—_ too late or too early _—_ and the base is soothing in it’s stillness. he lowers himself in a controlled collapse at the table and counts his heartbeats.

at some point something shifts out of the darkness and he wonders when tucker stopped triggering his reactionary defences. tucker shuffles over to the cupboards, muffling a yawn into his elbow as he goes. wash blankly watches him pull down mugs and whack the coffeepot into submission. he leans back against the counter, arms folded and eyes closed, looking for all the world like he could quite happily fall asleep right there.

wash finds himself watching tucker. if only to break the monotony of staring at nothing. his dreads are loose over his shoulders, bare to the cool air of the base. his tattoos don’t glow, per say, but they glimmer oddly in the dark _—_ similar to the eyes of something wild. he’s standing in nothing but a loose pair of cotton pants, and if wash could gather the willpower he might berate him for not wearing his armour ~~hypocrisy notwithstanding~~.

eventually the coffeepot stops gurgling and tucker sets about preparing two cups. wash blinks down to find one perched next to his hand, the warmth radiating over his cold fingers. tucker drops into the chair across from him and sips from his own mug. slowly wash's fingers curl around the ceramic, and he lets out an involuntary sigh, some of the tension leeching from his shoulders as the heat leeches into his skin. he takes a small sip and is hardly surprised that it’s almost perfect _—_ still not enough sugar.

“doc mentioned something before he left, but. you’re like really fucked up aren’t you?” tucker asks quietly.

wash thinks of how even though it wasn’t intentional, there’s nothing but a solid wall behind him. if he concentrates he can feel the edge of a knife along his ankle that he doesn’t remember putting there. knows without even thinking about it what his escape route would be if tucker decided to come at him.

“yeah,” he sighs. “something like that.”

tucker puffs out a breath, eyes dark and glittering in the low light. “you wanna talk about it?”

he stares down at his coffee that is the perfect shade of caramel. notes that even armed and paranoid as he is he didn’t think twice before taking a sip. thinks of how someone who regularly bitches and complains about him still got up in the dead of night to sit with him and make him near-perfect coffee after he screamed himself awake for the third time in a week.

he thinks about all of this and doesn’t have to work so hard to find a small half-smile. “i’m okay. it’s nothing.”

tucker snorts but drops it. sits with him until the sun rises and caboose comes out whining because he wasn’t invited to the slumber party.

///

“ _—_ ash? answer me! dammit wash where _are_ you?”

“over here c, i think i got him.”

wash groans, wincing as he opens his eyes and light floods through his visor. pain pulses through his body with every beat of his heart, but at least it means he’s alive.

he hears boots crunch across the ground and panic skitters up his spine shit he needs to find his gun where the fuck–

“easy, wash, _easy_. it’s just us.”

adrenaline leaves him breathless, blunts the pain wrapping around his nerves. he feels the familiar grip of his gun under his palm and the reassuring weight helps steady his mind. slowly, grunting, he manages to push his way to his hands and knees, dragging his head up to see carolina crouched before him, epsilon hovering anxiously over them.

“good to see you boss,” he rasps, before giving up and letting his head drop back down.

“you sound awful,” carolina says bluntly. “we need to get you out of here. the medics are on their way.”

wash shakes his head slowly back and forth. “’m fine. what happened? the others?”

carolina sighs. “it worked _—_ we brought down the tower. felix and locus are gone, and the new republic and federal army have called an immediate cease-fire.”

his arms are shaking and absently he hopes that he won’t collapse in front of her. that would be embarrassing.

“man you should’ve seen felix when he realized what was happening! stupid fucker was speechless!” epsilon crows, but there’s something off about the cadence. something strained.

dread curls in the pit of his stomach. he manages to lift his head again. “the reds and blues _—_ they’re fine?”

carolina’s head tilts and epsilon flickers and the pain in his ribs wraps around his heart and squeezes. “they’re all alive. the reds and caboose got a little scuffed up dealing with felix but they’ll be alright.” she pauses for a split second and wash’s heart tries to wrench its way out of his chest. “and tucker _—_ grey has him stabilized. he’ll be fine once we get him back to armonia.”

she keeps talking but wash can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears. he’s shaking out of his skin his heart is racing so hard it’s going to rupture he can’t do this not tucker n _ot tucker not tucker not_ _—_

“ _—_ ax wash, i need you to calm _down._ tucker’s going to be f _ine_ _—_ _”_

 _he can’t do this again he **can’t** he won’t survive losing another family he’s not strong enough_ _—_ his breath is heaving in his lungs, airways constricting, he can feel his chest splitting open sternum fracturing _—_ _hole in his heart to match the hole in his head_ _—_ bleeding out blood on the ground blood in his throat blood _—_

_drip_

wash twitches toward the sound, blinking back to himself. he’s panting shallowly and can feel the prickling of cold sweat along his hairline. there are quiet voices somewhere over his head but he ignores it in favour of curling what feels like fractured fingers into a fist in a desperate attempt to ground himself. he blinks hard, trying to dispel the haze over his vision, where lack of oxygen has washed everything _—_

_drip_

“wash? you with us?”

he stares at the blood splattered on the inside of his visor; nods. listens to the gravel crunch under carolina’s boots as she shifts closer.

“we need to get you up. the pelicans will be here any minute and i want you on the first one out.”

wash manages to shake his head once. “tucker.”

there’s a sound like water on a hot surface. “jesus christ it’s not like they can’t take multiple people. get your ass up and you can go be all melodramatic at each other.”

the world lurches and suddenly he’s on his feet. carolina’s there with a steadying hand on his shoulder when he lurches, but he stays upright. there’s iron heavy in his throat and he doesn’t want to think too hard about it, just thinks about tucker _—_ making it to tucker _—_ putting one foot in front of the other.

wash makes it to the tower through some miracle, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he spots familiar colours among the debris. suddenly there’s a helmet directly in front of his and it’s only the fact that he doesn’t think his arms have the strength that he doesn’t bring his gun up and start shooting.

“well there you two are!” chirps emily grey. “goodness i was thinking we’d have to send out a search party!”

carolina responds, and he lets her distract the doctor while he edges towards the pelican that’s arrived in their absence. fear licks up his spine the closer he gets, when he spots a flash of aqua, tries to brace himself for the worse _—_

“’sup dude,” tucker says weakly, grinning.

he’s strapped into a seat, missing most of his upper body armour, heavy gauze wrapped around his abdomen, sharp smell of biofoam in the air. wash has to lock his knees against the sudden wave of relief, biting back the emotion clogging his throat.

“hey,” he chokes, metal in his teeth.

“wow you sound like shit. where’ve you been? you missed my total moment of badassery by the way.”

“epsilon may have mentioned something about it,” he gets out. he coughs sharply, ignores the splatter. “something about felix being stunned speechless?”

tucker barks out a laugh then groans immediately, placing a hand over his stomach. “fucking, ow. but yeah! shit dude that video is going to outlive us all _—_ i’ll show it to you when we get back to… wash are you alright?”

he’s swaying lightly on his feet. “yeah, i’m… i’m fine. it’s nothing. just a little woozy from locus.”

tucker stares at him incredulously before patting the seat next to him. “well sit down before you fall down. we’re due out any minute anyways.”

wash’s head is beginning to feel foggy again and he gives it a hard shake. “no i _—_ should go check on the others. make sure they’re fine.”

“dude they’re good. grey’s given them all a check and besides lopez getting his head blown off i’m the only one who actually needs medical attention.” he squints suspiciously at wash. “and probably you.”

wash staggers back a step. “i’m alright. i’ll get the ship after yours _—_ carolina’ll want a sweep of the–”

“if carolina wants anything other than your ass in this pelican i’ll eat my own goddamn sword,” tucker huffs. “now stop arguing with the grievously injured war hero and sit the fuck down.”

he flinches guiltily, “sorry, i didn’t _—_ ”

“ _oh my god_ stop apologizing and just–”

“ _AGENT WASHINGTUB YOU ARE OKAY!!!”_

he barely gets his head turned before strong arms are wrapped around him and half a ton of power armour comes down hard against his back. unprepared, he curls under the weight and feels something in his chest _give–_

“caboose!” _  
_

the noise he makes is sharp, high, arcing out of his throat before he can stop it. caboose lets him go instantly and he hits the pelican hard, gasping wetly as he scrambles to keep upright.

“jesus fucking _—_ _grey!_ _—_ caboose what the hell did you do?!”

“i am sorry! I was just so very excited to see him and that he was okay _—_ ”

“it _—_ it’s okay buddy,” he wheezes, arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. “you just surprised me. i’m fine.”

“oh i very much doubt that agent washington,” grey says cheerfully as she pops up in front of him. “from the sounds of that breathing i’m quite positive you have a punctured lung!”

wash shakes his head slowly, even as something wet drips down his lip. she keeps chattering as she pokes and prods at his torso, and he can hear carolina barking out orders in the distance.

“wash?”

his head comes up, and he frowns at tucker who’s now hovering behind his shoulder. “you… shouldn’t be up.”

“says the guy who can’t even stand up on his own!”

“oooh definitely internal bleeding!” her fingers run along the seal of his helmet. “don’t mind me but this most certainly needs to come off now!”

wash tries to argue, but the seals are already hissing and he finds himself ducking anyways to let grey pull the helmet off. he squints as the unfiltered sunlight hits his eyes, glad he’s leaning against the pelican so it’s not obvious how dizzy it makes him.

“jesus christ,” tucker hisses.

“i want us airborne in three minutes people! that is _not an option_!”

he’s shivering, and it takes him a minute to realize grey is trying to get his attention _—_ “follow my finger, that’s it… well i’m sure you tried and that’s important.”

“you are not looking very good agent washingtub,” caboose murmurs glumly from where he’s hovering behind grey.

wash tries to smile reassuringly, stops when he remembers the blood. “don’t w-worry caboose, it’s n-n-nothing.”

“yeah sure, if _nothing_ is freelancer code for _fubarbagai_ ,” snorts grif who has appeared in his peripheral vision at some point.

“what the fuck does that even mean?” snaps tucker.

“fucked up beyond all repair but ain’t gonna admit it!” crows sarge from somewhere nearby. “i admire that in a soldier! stubborness! determination! refusal to admit defeat _—_ even in the face of certain death!”

“he’s not dying shut the fuck up _—_ ”

“captain tucker i’m going to have to request that you _sit back down_ immediately please _—_ ”

they’re a cacophony of sound and it should be awful and grating and wretched but he thinks the pain and blood-loss is messing with his head because it’s almost soothing in it’s familiarity. he’s definitely gone into shock he can admit that much.

carolina bursts into their midst like a storm making land–bristling with concern and a determination not to show it. “all of you get your asses onboard _now_ or so help me _—_ ”

epsilon appears, hovering before him and helmet tilted in what wash would call concern if it were anyone else. “wash?”

his hearing is shot; everything is slightly muffled and distorted like he’s hearing it through a wall. it feels like time is spinning out at half the speed and twice the speed and he remembers this he’s probably going to pass out if he doesn’t sit down in the next thirty seconds _—_

“it’s nothing,” he slurs around an odd hiccup, before he leans forward and vomits blood.

///

waking up in a hospital has usually never boded well for wash, but he also doesn’t usually have what is essentially a puppy in the form of his teammate draped across the foot of his bed and another one curled around his shoulders and muttering angrily into his hair.

tucker sounds angry, but he’s tracing light fingertips along his hairline and nosing into his temple so he’s probably more shaken then anything. of course wash has apparently just suffered some major trauma so he could be misreading things. he and tucker aren’t usually _—_ well. they just aren’t. weren’t? past tense maybe. probably.

“ _—_ tart taking better care of yourself or so help me god. you’re only allowed one attempt at self-sacrifice a year and you have _definitely_ fucking exceeded your quota this is not okay _—_ ”

“sorry,” he says quietly.

tucker startles, pulling away and sitting up and wash tries not to make any pathetic noises. he looks tired, is wash’s first thought when tucker stares down at him _—_ tired, and in a little bit of pain. but alive.

“i’ll be honest here, i’m having trouble deciding on what i want to yell at you about first,” he says bluntly.

wash ignores him. turns to look down at caboose instead. “how long has he been like that?”

tucker snorts. “three days. he’s been within fifteen feet of you since you got out of surgery. i think he thinks he was entirely responsible for you _almost dying_ yeah ok i think i wanna yell at you about this.”

“quiet yelling,” he replies, quite reasonably, he thinks. “he’s probably tired.”

reasonable _—_ but still apparently still the wrong thing to say. tucker twitches and makes a noise like an angry cat before practically spitting (but still quietly): “ _he’s_ probably tired?! _he_ hasn’t done anything except wait for _you_ to stop being _half-fucking-dead_!”

“ _welp_. this looks like a bad time,” grif says from the doorway. “glad to see you’re not dead wash. a+ on the melodrama; spot on as usual. later, nerds.”

tucker glares after him before turning back to wash. “you need to stop doing this.”

wash blinks, looking around like the walls are going to give him some sort of clue as to what he’s supposed to say here. “doing _—_ tucker i didn’t _do_ anything.”

tucker groans low in his throat and scrubs his hands over his hair. “you have such a casual disregard for your own life it makes me want to scream.”

“tucker _—_ ”

“no, shut up, i’m talking. every time something goes down you pull on your big bad freelancer persona and start swanning about _—_ ”

“i don’t _swan about_ _—_ ”

“ _—_ like it’s the last time you’re ever gonna see us _—_ ”

“ _—_ that is not _—_ ”

" _—_ and at this point it’s like you’re just waiting to fucking die!”

wash stops, stares. tucker’s angry, obviously so, but he’s also quivering and his eyes are hard like they get when he’s forcing himself not to freak out. he’s also still sitting next to him, on his bed, knees tucked up against wash’s hip.

slowly, wash reaches out and laces their fingers together. doesn’t take his eyes off him so he can see the way tucker's mouth goes soft, just for a moment.

“tucker i’m not _—_ it’s,” he stops, huffs through his nose. “these are the kinds of things i was trained for. getting my team out of high-risk situations with minimal casualties.”

“it’s not a minimal casualty if you die!”

“one life against seven is _—_ ”

“your life is not worth less than ours!” tucker whisper-shrieks.

wash can’t respond to that, not with the way the bones in his chest are tightening around his lungs. tucker growls quietly, glaring at the ceiling but he doesn’t let go of wash’s hand. if anything he tightens his grip.

“i hate talking about the project so _so_ fucking much because i get _—_ it makes me so angry and i have no one to be angry _at_ except for you and getting angry at you is like,” he stops, lets out a resigned laugh. “it’s like kicking a three-legged puppy except _worse_ because the puppy at least looks sad and shit but you,” he stares hard at wash with a deep melancholy in his eyes that shakes wash to his core because tucker isn’t meant to _look like that_ , “you just look like you saw it coming all along. like you expected it.”

wash’s heart squeezes. “tucker…”

he scrubs a hand over his eyes. “no, its fine, fucking… grey’s just got me on painkillers i’m having a weird reaction to it. it’s like those vids of people getting their teeth yanked out except less hilarious and infinitely more depressing.”

caboose is heavy on his feet and his lungs feel heavy in his chest. he squeezes tucker’s hand, pulls on it to get his attention. “i’m… i don’t know what you want me to say here. i’m not going to apologize for trying to keep you safe. any of you. just… i can’t look at a scenario where you get hurt and judge it as acceptable.”

tucker stares at their hands, mouth twitching at the corners. “god you’re such a dramatic asshole. but this whole _it’s nothing_ bullshit has to stop. if you’re injured, or not sleeping, or _haemorrhaging into your fucking chest cavity_ just fucking _say something_ dude. we’re your team. we’re supposed to be here for you.”

grey must have him on the good drugs too because something warm and heavy is welling in his throat. tucker’s refusing to meet his eyes but he’s got both hands wrapped around wash’s so he thinks it’s okay. wash licks his lips and tries to steady his breathing, thinks about what tucker just essentially yelled at him, thinks it might be okay to ask.

“can you… come here? and do the _—_ what you were doing before? with _—_ please?”

tucker jerks and stares at him, eyes dark and liquid and somehow lighter than they’ve been the whole time. his mouth does something complicated and wash suspects that if his skin was lighter he’d definitely be seeing a blush.

“can i _—_ yeah i can. do that. it’s _—_ you fucking sap move over.”

wash hides a grin as tucker curls around him, buries his face in his hair. he shifts his free arm around to be able to run his fingers through wash’s hair _—_ no pretence this time. wash hums, feeling sated and exhausted and this was probably not the best time to have an emotionally heavy discussion but it lead to this so he can’t say he minds too much. and grey isn’t around to scold them for it either.

“i’ll deny this if you ever bring it up again,” tucker says into the bolt of his jaw, “but i just really need you to be okay.” he sighs. “you didn’t see me after you guys were _taken,_ or whatever, by the feds but i. i was a mess. i don’t think i’d get through it if you actually _—_ ”

wash tips his head towards him. “yes you would. you’re stronger than you think.”

“ _wash_ seriously.”

“sorry,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping. “but. at least you can understand my own motives now.”

tucker doesn’t respond, just sighs and worms closer. “this is depressing shut the fuck up and let me snuggle you already.”

“no homo?” he asks just because he already knows the answer.

tucker laughs quietly, like he knows exactly what wash is up to; lets him feel his smile against his skin. “i think we’re a little too late for that.”

the ache in his chest is steady and soothing, and he relishes in it. definitely not nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> wash/hurt/comfort is my ot3
> 
> let's be [friends](http://agentwashingtrash.tumblr.com/)


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